Siren Song - Chapter Six

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The smug warmth from moments ago burned away under a fresh wave of urgent need. Jon pushed himself up, rising to his feet beside the bed. He fished his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, thumbing the screen off without a glance before tossing it carelessly onto the rumpled sheets near the foot of the bed. It landed with a soft thud among the scattered pillows, forgotten. and then his hands moved fast dragging the zipper of his pants down. He shoved the denim and checkered boxer-briefs down in one impatient push, stepping out of them and kicking the tangle aside, finally bared completely in the chandelier’s golden glow.

His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, ten inches of rigid Kryptonian steel flushed dark and curving upward, the broad head already slick and shining with precum. It throbbed visibly in the fractured light, veins prominent along the shaft, the sheer size of it stark and intimidating against Siren’s smaller, lithe frame still spread open on the bed. Siren’s eyes darkened further, lips parting on a soft, appreciative exhale as he stared unblinking, hungry. “Fuck,” he whispered, almost reverent, one hand sliding down to wrap delicate fingers around the base, testing the impossible girth with a slow, exploratory stroke that made Jon’s hips jerk forward involuntarily, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

Jon was about to climb back onto the bed, knees already sinking into the mattress, every muscle tense with the single-minded need to give Siren exactly what he’d demanded, when the phone on the rumpled sheets erupted. The ringtone exploded through the hushed room like a gunshot, shattering cocoon in an instant. Jon froze mid-motion, one hand braced on the mattress, naked body still thrumming with unspent heat.

Reality slammed back into him with brutal clarity.

Suddenly he could hear everything again. Siren’s heartbeat, quick and fluttering like a trapped bird beneath pale ribs; still recovering from the orgasm Jon had wrung from him. The faint, delicate trill of Vivaldi drifting from hidden speakers, strings that had faded to nothing beneath Siren’s moans now crisp and present. Farther off, in another wing of the sprawling penthouse, the quick tap-tap-tap of Sydney’s thumbs on her phone screen as she texted or scrolled, the soft creak of a leather chair as she shifted.Then the floodgates opened wider. Metropolis poured in, the city he’d tuned out the moment he crossed Siren’s balcony,now roaring back: the low rumble of mag-lev trains slicing through elevated tracks in New Troy, the blare of a taxi horn six blocks down on Centennial Avenue, the laughter of revelers spilling out of a rooftop bar in Bakerline. A baby crying in an apartment overlooking the West River. The rhythmic thud of a jogger’s sneakers on the boardwalk near Hobbs Bay. Sirens, real ones, MPD cruisers racing toward some minor crisis he would normally have diverted to handle. The ceaseless murmur of a million lives overlapping, heartbeats and conversations and machinery, all the sounds he usually kept in peripheral awareness, the heartbeat of the city he’d sworn to protect.

It all crashed over him like cold water, reminding him exactly where he was, what he’d done, and how far he’d already fallen.

And how little he cared.

“Jon?” Siren’s voice pulled him back to the bedroom. He nodded toward the phone still buzzing insistently on the bed. “You can get that, if you want.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jon muttered, voice thick, “I better. Just a sec.”

He reached for the phone and, somehow, deep in his gut, he already knew who it would be. The universe had a cruel sense of timing, and it would never miss a chance to twist the knife like this.

Sure enough, as the holographic display flickered to life above the device, Tyler’s photo bloomed in the air, floating a few centimeters above the bed like a ghost summoned from better days. It was the picture Jon himself had taken one quiet morning in his own bedroom: Tyler cross-legged levitating, eyes closed in meditation, golden hair catching the early sunlight, a soft, peaceful smile on his lips. He looked radiant, serene, utterly at ease… the complete opposite of the wrecked, sated thief watching Jon now with quiet, unreadable eyes.

The name pulsed beneath the photo in stark white letters: TYLER calling…

Jon stared at it, thumb hovering frozen over the answer icon, the heat in his blood cooling to something sharp and jagged as the two worlds he’d tried to keep separate collided in the palm of his hand.

Jon waited for the guilt to crush him.

He braced for it. The cold, familiar wave that should have risen in his chest the moment Tyler’s photo lit up the room: shame for the betrayal, regret for the hurt he’d already caused, the sharp, Midwestern-raised voice that sounded suspiciously like Clark whispering what the hell are you doing, son? He waited for his stomach to twist, for his throat to close, for the weight of the “S” he wasn’t even wearing tonight to slam down on his shoulders like a lead cape.

Nothing happened.

The phone kept vibrating in his hand, Tyler’s serene, sunlit smile hovering in the hologram like an accusation. Siren watched him quietly from the bed, silver eyes patient, body still flushed and open and waiting. The city hummed beyond the windows,distant horns, the heartbeat of a million strangers, all the lives he’d sworn to protect, and none of it reached him.

No crush of guilt. No stab of remorse. Not even a flicker.

Just the steady, relentless throb in his cock, the heat of Siren’s gaze, and the quiet, undeniable realization settling in his bones: he didn’t feel bad at all.

He should be, goddamn it, he really should be. The thought hammered against the inside of his skull like a fist against steel, demanding entry. He and Tyler were still together, technically, officially, the word boyfriend still attached to Tyler’s name in every corner of Jon’s life that wasn’t this bedroom. Tyler, who had done nothing but make him laugh until his ribs hurt, who had flown patrol with him on humid summer nights, who had held him after the Jay breakup and never once asked for more than Jon was ready to give.

Jon was cheating. Plain and simple. No heroic justification, no pheromone excuse, no meta-technicality to hide behind. Just pure, deliberate infidelity while the boy who loved him waited somewhere across the city. He waited for the shame to rise, for the sick twist in his gut, for the instinctive urge to fly straight to Tyler’s apartment and fall to his knees with apologies spilling out like kryptonite shards.

Still, nothing.

No guilt. No regret. Not even the faint echo of one.

Jon stared at Tyler’s smiling hologram a second longer, thumb still hovering over the screen, and felt the final, quiet snap of something inside him he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back.

Then, with a soft exhale that sounded far too calm for what it meant, Jon’s thumb slid across the screen and pressed accept.

“Hey, Ty,” he said, voice gentle, as if he weren’t standing buck-naked and aching in a stranger’s penthouse.

He turned his back to Siren and walked toward the balcony where he’d landed earlier. The sun was just beginning its descent, a molten gold disc kissing the horizon beyond Metropolis Bay, spilling warm rose and amber light across the city’s steel-and-glass skyline. The spires of New Troy caught fire in the glow, windows flashing like scattered jewels, while long shadows stretched lavender over the avenues below. Even the distant waters of the West River shimmered rose-gold, freighters and pleasure yachts cutting slow, glittering wakes through the painted surface. The whole metropolis looked dipped in honey and blush, soft and forgiving in a way the night never allowed.

Cool evening air brushed Jon’s overheated skin as he stepped onto the marble portico, thirty stories up. A neighboring tower loomed close enough that someone glancing out at the sunset might catch an eyeful of Superman’s, naked and unmistakably hard, framed against the golden sky.

Again, he didn’t care.

“Hey, Jon…” Tyler’s voice came through the speaker, quieter than usual, hesitant in a way that twisted something low in Jon’s gut. “Wasn’t sure you’d pick up.”

“’Course I did,” Jon answered, leaning his forearms on the cool railing, eyes tracing the curve of the Daily Planet globe in the distance. His tone was easy, almost fon, like this was any other late-night check-in. “What’s up?”

A pause. Jon could hear Tyler breathing, could picture him raking a hand through wheat-blond hair the way he always did when he was nervous.

“I just… I hate the way we left things the other day,” Tyler finally said, voice small. “Can we talk? Please?”

Jon closed his eyes for a second, the warm sunset breeze lifting the dark strands of his hair.

“Now?” Jon asked

“Are you busy?” Tyler asked, voice small and careful, like he was testing thin ice.

Jon had to stop himself from sighing. It wasn’t Tyler’s fault, none of this was. He was the one at fault here, the one naked on a balcony thirty stories up, cock still half-hard and aching for someone else. The guilt he’d waited for earlier still didn’t come, but a flicker of something close to tenderness did, soft and useless.

“No,” Jon said, the lie gentle and automatic. “Go ahead.”

He leaned heavier on the railing, the marble cool under his forearms. Behind him, through the open doors, Siren waited, and Jon wanted nothing more than to end this call, stride back inside, and lose himself in that bed until the world stopped mattering.

“I just… I want to apologize, Jon,” Tyler said, the words tumbling faster now, like he’d rehearsed them a hundred times. “I was so unfair to you. It’s just… those photos, the video, and all the shit people were saying about you and that Siren asshole” He almost spat the name, venom lacing the syllables in a way that would have made Jon flinch on any other night. “I was so fucking jealous.”

Tyler’s voice cracked on the last word, vulnerable, the golden boy who could hurl trucks with solar-charged fury sounding suddenly small and human. Jon should say something comforting. Should tell Tyler it was okay, that he understood, that they could fix this. Should feel the knife-twist of remorse for what he was doing right now. Instead, he only felt the pull of the bed behind him like gravity.

“I get it,” Jon said quietly, the words neutral, careful, like he was handling something fragile he no longer wanted to hold. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine,” Tyler cut in, voice cracking with frustration and regret. “It was not your fault! You’re just a victim of that freak. I should never have said those things. It’s all his fault. I fucking hate him so much, Jon. He better hope the MPD catches him before I do.”

Jon’s gaze drifted over the sunset-soaked city. Tyler’s anger should have landed like a punch, should have sparked some protective instinct, some lingering loyalty. Instead, the words felt distant, almost irrelevant.

“He’s not that bad, Ty,” Jon murmured, the defense slipping automatic, surprising even himself.

A voice, low, amused, devastatingly close, spoke just behind his shoulder.

“Talking about me?”

Jon wasn’t surprised. He’d heard the faint pad of bare feet on marbles as Siren crossed the room. He wasn’t angry at the interruption, at Siren breaking unapologetically into this private moment with his boyfriend. He was only glad that Siren had closed the distance between them on his own.

The warmth of Siren’s smaller body settled against Jon’s back, bare chest to bare spine, one arm sliding possessively around Jon’s waist. Cool fingers splayed over the hard plane of his abs, thumb tracing idle circles just above the line where Jon’s cock still throbbed, heavy and aching in the open air. Siren’s chin rested lightly on Jon’s shoulder, raven hair brushing his skin, the sunset painting heir tangled silhouettes in molten gold.

Jon didn’t pull away, didn’t end the call. He just stood there, phone still at his ear, letting Siren hold him in full view of the dying light while Tyler’s voice, continued on the other end, oblivious to the thief now pressed flush against the man he was trying to win back. His voice crackled through the speaker, tight with barely-contained fury. “I mean, who the fuck does that guy think he is? Some freak who gets off on mind-fucking heroes? He’s a coward, Jon. A pathetic, thieving little…”

Siren’s arm tightened around Jon’s waist from behind, pale fingers splaying possessively across his torso and then, slow, unhurried, his delicate hand drifted lower, descending from the Jon’s pecs through the ridges of his abs. Jon wasn’t really hairy, not like Dad with his proud fur-chest, but he did have some dark curls scattered across his torso, a happy trail that arrowed down to a full, untamed bush. Damian had mocked him countless times in the showers after training, threatening to fire up the Bat-jet and fly him straight to Brazil for a waxing session. Jon always refused. No Kansas boy worth his salt would go smooth down there, Jon would let that for the Metropolis pretty boys.

“... and the way he just toyed with you in that video, like it was a game,” Tyler went on, words tumbling faster. “It makes me sick. I swear, if I ever get my hands on him…”

Siren’s fingers wrapped around Jon’s cock. The first stroke was languid, thumb sweeping over the slick head, spreading the bead of precum in a teasing glide.

“.... he’ll wish he’d stayed in whatever hole he crawled out of. He doesn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as you, Jon. He’s nothing. Nothing.”

Jon’s hips twitched forward involuntarily into Siren’s grip. The hand answered with another slow pull, root to crown, firm and knowing, twisting lightly at the head before sliding back down. Siren’s chin rested on Jon’s shoulder, lips brushing the shell of his ear, a faint, amused hum vibrating against his skin as Tyler kept raging.

“I just… I hate that he got to you,” Tyler said, voice cracking again. “I hate that he made you look like… like you wanted it. You didn’t, right? It was all him. Tell me it was all him.”

Siren’s strokes stayed steady, unhurried, almost lazy, long, dragging pulls that made Jon’s thighs tense and his free hand grip the balcony railing hard enough to crumble the marble. Each upward glide ended with a deliberate press of Siren’s thumb against the sensitive underside of the head, coaxing another helpless pulse of precum that slicked the way for the next downward stroke.

“Of course it was,” Jon answered, the words slipping out smooth and convincing even as pleasure burst through his body in hot, dizzying wave. “I would never do that. You know me, Ty.”

“You’re right,” Tyler said, relief softening his voice, the anger bleeding away into something fragile and trusting. “I know you. You’re a good guy, Jon, the best. You’d never help a thief willingly. You’d never… cheat. Not you. That’s why it hurt so much, thinking someone forced you into that. But it wasn’t your fault. None of it was.”

Behind him, Siren’s arm slipped away from his waist. Jon felt the shift of air, the faint brush of raven hair against his hip as Siren sank gracefully to his knees on the cool marble balcony floor. Pale hands settled on Jon’s thighs, parting them just enough, and then, warm, wet heat enveloped the head of his cock in one slow, deliberate slide.

Jon’s free hand gripping hard enough to leave hairline cracks in the stone. A low, involuntary groan rumbled in his throat, barely swallowed before it escaped. Siren took him deeper, plush lips stretching around the impossible girth, tongue pressing flat along the underside as he sank forward, cheeks hollowing with practiced ease. He didn’t rush; he savored, bobbing slow and steady, silver eyes tilted upward to watch Jon’s face as he worked. One delicate hand cupped Jon’s big balls, rolling them gently, while the other braced against a powerful thigh, nails digging in just enough to ground him.

“You still there?” Tyler asked.

“Yeah,” Jon managed, the word rough, strained. He cleared his throat, forcing steadiness even as Siren swallowed him deeper, throat relaxing to take more than should have been possible, a soft hum vibrating around the shaft that sent lightning up Jon’s spine. “Just… watching the sunset. It’s nice today.”

Siren pulled back until only the head remained between his lips, tongue swirling teasingly around the slit, lapping up the fresh bead of precum before sliding down again, deeper, wetter, relentless. Jon’s hips jerked forward, a shallow, helpless thrust that pushed him to the back of Siren’s throat. Siren took it without flinching, eyes watering slightly but never looking away, lips stretched obscenely around Kryptonian steel, the picture of devoted ruin on his knees while Jon lied, effortlessly, breathlessly, to the boy who still believed in him.

“You love your sunsets, don’t you?” Tyler said, a faint smile audible in his voice, like he was trying to lighten the mood. “Where are you?”

It took Jon a second to answer, his mind scrambling for something while Siren’s mouth worked him with slow, devastating precision. Warm, wet suction pulled at the head, tongue swirling lazy circles before sliding down again, taking him deeper with every bob of that raven-haired head.

“Uh… at the… uh, gym,” Jon managed, the lie slipping out smoother than it had any right to.

“Really?” Tyler sounded surprised. “You’re here in the Watchtower? Where are you?”

Crap. Jon hadn’t thought Tyler would be at the Watchtower.

“Uh, no,” Jon said quickly, forcing a casual tone even as his hips twitched forward involuntarily, pushing deeper into Siren’s throat. “Fortress Fitness. Here in Metropolis.”

This time, the lie didn’t land as smoothly. Tyler knew Jon’s routine too well, knew that the little neighborhood gym a few blocks from the Kent’s apartment, whose name paid homage to Superman himself, was pointless for him. Without the red-sun lamps in the Fortress or the gravity rigs in the Watchtower stripping his powers, there weren’t enough plates in the world to give Jon a real workout. He’d grumbled about it plenty of times to Tyler himself.

“Oh,” Tyler said, confusion clear in his voice. “I didn’t know you went there.”

“Yeah, I just…”

Jon’s words fractured into a sharp inhale as Siren chose that exact moment to sink all the way down again, his hroat fluttering around the thick length buried deep, tongue pressing hard along the underside. A low, involuntary moan tore free before Jon could clamp his mouth shut, teeth grinding together to stifle the rest.

The sound was unmistakable, even over the phone.

“You okay, Jon?” Tyler asked, concern sharpening his tone.

“Y-yeah,” Jon managed, the word scraping out rough and strained. Siren pulled back slow, agonizingly slow, lips dragging wet along every inch until only the head remained, tongue swirling teasing circles around the slit before plunging down again, deeper, faster, cheeks hollowed with deliberate suction. Jon’s hips jerked forward, a helpless thrust he barely controlled. “Just… wanted to chill a bit, you know?”

Jon’s breath came in shallow, uneven pulls, every nerve alight, pleasure tighter and tighter as Tyler’s voice, trusting, loving, kept talking on the other end, completely unaware of the thief on his knees worshiping the man he was trying to save. Jon’s control frayed at the edges, the last thin thread snapping under the weight of Siren’s mouth and Tyler’s trusting voice. He pulled back just enough to let Siren breathe, then rolled his hips forward.

Siren took it like he was born for it, throat relaxing instantly, a soft, wet hum vibrating around Jon’s cock as he pushed in again, deeper this time. Jon’s hand found the back of Siren’s head, fingers threading gently through raven strands, guiding but not forcing, setting a steady rhythm: long, deliberate strokes that filled Siren’s mouth completely, the head nudging the back of his throat on every push.

“Yeah,” Tyler said on the other end, still sounding unsure, like he was trying to convince himself everything was normal. “I guess you have a lot on your mind right now.”

Jon’s hips didn’t falter. He fucked Siren’s mouth in smooth, controlled thrusts, pulling back until only the slick head remained between swollen lips, then sliding forward again, deeper, faster. Siren handled it expertly, throat fluttering around the intrusion like it was made to take him. Better than Tyler ever had, so much better. The best blowjob Jon had ever felt, hot and wet and utterly devoted, no hesitation, no discomfort, just perfect, greedy acceptance.

“You, uh, wanna meet later?” Tyler asked. “You’re not on duty tonight, right?”

“No,” Jon managed, “not tonight.”

He thrust a little harder, a little deeper, watching Siren’s lashes flutter, tears gathering at the corners of those silver eyes as he took everything Jon gave him. A low groan built in Jon’s chest; he swallowed most of it, but a fractured sound still escaped.

“Sure, we can… R-rao!”

The curse slipped out sharp and raw as Siren hollowed his cheeks on a particularly deep pull-back, tongue swirling wickedly around the head before Jon pushed forward again, burying himself to the root.

“Jon?” Tyler’s voice spiked with sudden alarm. “What’s going on over there?”

“N-nothing,” Jon gasped, forcing the words through clenched teeth as his hips kept moving, relentless, chasing the tight, perfect heat of Siren’s throat. Siren’s hands gripped his thighs, nails digging in just enough to spur him on, urging deeper, faster. “We can meet… meet… later!”

His voice cracked on the last word, pleasure coiling white-hot at the base of his spine, every thrust into that willing, expert mouth pushing him closer to the edge while Tyler waited on the line for an explanation Jon would never give.

“Ok, I’ll call you later, then?” Tyler asked, hope creeping back into his voice.

“Yeah, of course,” Jon replied, the words automatic, distant.

“Ok, great. Hey, Jon… we good, right? You forgive me?”

Jon only caught the last part thanks to super-hearing, because in that exact moment he had to yank the phone away from his mouth. The pleasure was too intense, the tight, too perfect. He couldn’t hold back the noise anymore. A low, guttural growl tore free as he braced the phone against the marble parapet, screen down, speaker still open. Sweat traced hot paths down the groove of his spine, beading across his pecs and dripping from his collarbones in the warm sunset air. His hips snapped forward harder, faster, no more careful rhythm, just urgent need, fucking Siren’s mouth with deep, relentless thrusts that buried him to the root on every stroke. Soft, wet sounds filled the balcony: slick slides, muffled moans vibrating around Jon’s cock, the faint slap of hips against chin. Jon’s moans had turned to growls, animal and unrestrained, chest heaving as he chased the edge with single-minded focus.

“Jon? You there?”

Tyler’s voice floated tinny and confused from the phone’s speaker, abandoned on the parapet. Jon reached for it in haste, fingers slick with sweat, an the phone slipped through his grasp, clattering against the marble before tumbling over the edge. Jon could have stopped it. He moves faster than light, he could have blurred forward in a fraction of a heartbeat, snatched the phone before it fell even a millimeter, saved the call, saved the lie, saved whatever fragile thread still connected him to the boy on the other end.

He didn’t.

He didn’t care.

He heard it all in perfect, cruel clarity: Tyler’s confused “Jon? Can you hear me?” echoing from the speaker as the phone tumbled through the warm evening air, thirty stories down. Heard the rush of wind past the falling device, the faint, panicked repeat of his name, Jon, Jon, Jon, growing smaller, fainter, until the sharp, final crack of plastic and glass shattering against asphalt far below cut it off forever.

Jon didn’t care.

Both hands tangled deep in Siren’s raven hair now, fingers threaded tight as he guided that perfect mouth deeper, faster, hips rolling with Kryptonian power barely leashed, thrusting with unrestrained need. Siren’s nails dug sharp crescents into his thighs, urging him on, pulling him closer, throat working in perfect, greedy swallows around every thick inch Jon fed him. Jon felt the orgasm rushing up his spine, hot and inevitable, his hips already stuttering forward with the first warning pulse. He stopped, abruptly, brutally, pulling free of Siren’s mouth with a wet, obscene sound that echoed off the marble. Siren gasped, lips swollen and glistening, silver eyes dazed and dark with need as he looked up from his knees. Jon didn’t give him time to protest. He bent down, hands sliding under Siren’s thighs and back, and scooped him up like he weighed nothing more than a feather, because to Kryptonian strength, he truly didn’t.

Siren let out a soft, surprised laugh, arms looping instinctively around Jon’s neck as he was lifted, bare body pressed flush to sweat-slick muscle. Jon turned and carried him the two steps to the wide marble parapet where the phone had been moments ago. He set Siren down gently but firmly, the cool stone kissing pale skin as Siren’s ass met the ledge. Jon’s hands gripped slim thighs and spread them wide opening Siren completely to the warm sunset air and to him.

There, framed by the rose-gold glow of the dying sun and the glittering city far below, was Siren’s perfect hole: small, pink, still slick and fluttering from earlier fingers, clenching softly on nothing, begging to be filled. The sight punched the air from Jon’s lungs, tight, flushed, utterly exposed, the delicate ring twitching under his gaze like it knew exactly what was coming.

Jon stepped between those spread legs, his cock brushing the sensitive skin of Siren’s inner thigh as he settled into place. Siren’s breath hitched, back arching slightly against the parapet, hands gripping the marble edge for balance, silver eyes locked downward, watching with naked hunger as Jon lined himself up.

The city burned gold and rose around them, oblivious, while Jon held there, both of them trembling with the knowledge that once he pushed forward, there would be no going back.

“You got any condoms?” Jon asked, the question more reflex than real concern, some last, fading echo of responsibility flickering in the back of his mind.

“Fuck that,” Siren answered simply, breathless but certain.

Jon snorted, a short, dark huff of laughter that dissolved the tension in his chest like smoke.

“Lube?” he asked instead, already shifting his weight.

“Nightstand, second…”

Jon was gone before Siren could finish in blur too fast for human eyes, vanishing into the bedroom and reappearing in the space of a sigh, bottle of lube clutched in one hand.

“... drawer,” Siren finished, blinking once in amused delight. “Shit. I love when you do that.”

Jon’s grin was feral as he flicked the cap open with his thumb. He slicked his fingers first, then wrapped a generous hand around his own cock, coating the thick length until it gleamed in the sunset light, veins standing out stark against flushed skin. Siren watched every motion, lips parted, chest rising faster, thighs trembling faintly where they gripped the parapet’s edge. Jon stepped close again,the slick head of his cock nudging that fluttering pink entrance, pressing just enough to tease, to promise.

No more questions.

No more hesitation.

Just the slow, relentless push forward, Jon’s hips rolling steady and deep as he finally, finally claimed what he’d been craving since the moment silver eyes first locked on his in a glittering jewelry store.

CHAPTER SEVEN

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